


Don't let go

by hyperius



Category: Avengers (Comics), Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Avengers Family, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperius/pseuds/hyperius
Summary: Clint keeps his trauma's hidden beneath a facade of comedy and sarcasm, but when his traumas surface, the Avengers make it their mission to help him whether he wants it or not.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Avengers Team, Clint Barton & Steve Rogers, Clint Barton & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	Don't let go

Clint loathed it when others would eat his food. He knew he had a strange possessiveness over his snacks and meals, and he knew if he asked the other avengers, primarily Hulk and Thor, to stop stealing his food they would. But he doesn’t actually ever tell them to stop. Well, maybe he tells them to stop, but usually in an annoying and teasing manner; a way they would never truly take seriously.

But he still has that possessiveness over his food he can't shake. His food constantly disappearing gets under his skin, makes it crawl in the most unpleasant of ways. Sometimes, he’s not able to control this possessiveness, and the worst parts of him boil out. He’s healing. He’s getting better, he knows it, but after a particularly stressful or dangerous mission his mind can get thrown back to _before_ and his jaw clenches, heart races, and he can’t help but get defensive, angry, irritated… and his old insecurities, old _pains,_ flare like a raging, overwhelming phantom pain.

It was during one of these painful moments that he lost his sarcastic, comedic facade,“Hulk! Can you not sometimes?! Other people, you know, actually need food too. You can’t just keep stealing my shit like an asshole!” Though the words weren’t particularly scathing, his tone betrayed him. It was sharp, sharper than he meant and void of his usual humorous tilt. He knew, immediately, it set the others on edge. The Avengers stared, frowns crossing their faces as they tried to calculate just what the hell set him off. He swallowed, pausing to regain his wits before letting out a little laugh, “I mean, have at it big guy.”

Hulk blinked, clearly confused with the situation, "Uh, sorry?"

“No, no no,” Tony easily waved off Clint’s attempt of bulldozing over his little outburst, and Hulk's apology, “The first part seemed more interesting. What happened? We can always order more food - like always. It’s part of the joy of being a billionaire. Or in your case, living with a billionaire.”

Clint kicked the floor, scowling as he looked away with a half shrug, “I just really like my food.” He was already plotting his quickest escape.

“Not buying it. Try again.”

Clint huffed, slouching further and crossing his arms, avoiding all forms of eye contact, “Ok, fine, I haven’t always had food, so now I’m just a little touchy. M’kay?”

With a frown, Steve stepped forward, ducking his head to catch Clint’s eyes, “What does that mean?”

“It means, old habits die hard.”

_Clint’s dad was many things, and all of them were negative. He was a drunkard, an abusive asshole, a cruel son of a bitch who liked to hit his wife and kids. More so, he was a control freak. When Clint disobeyed, and after a good and painful beating, he was sent to bed without dinner. Woke without breakfast - hell, sometimes he would go a full day without eating. He was only four when he learned how to hoard food. He learned how to sneak food from the meals he was allowed to eat, to steal snacks from the other kids during recess, and to hide his food in places he knew his father would never check._

_So yeah, old habits die fucking hard._

“You know that still doesn’t help us understand your situation like, at all. Right?”

Steve steps forward to stand beside Stark, resting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him a bit, “Clint, we won’t force you to tell us, but we do want to help you. The only way to help you, though, is if you tell us what’s happening.”

That is true. They can’t help Clint if they didn’t know what was wrong. They couldn’t help him if they couldn’t understand. But the glorious thing of this situation is: “I don’t need, nor want your help. It’s just something that happened, ok? It’s fine. I’m sorry, I snapped. It’s just been a long day. Now let’s,” he made a dramatic hand movement, as if motioning them to forget about it all, “Y’know, move on with our lives.” Clint finished off his little rant with a dramatic exit, slamming the doors behind him as he left.

Steve and Tony shared a look, “He’s definitely hiding something.”

“You don’t say.”

* * *

“Tony, why the hell are you stocking my room with food?”

“Because you like food!”

With a scowl, Clint rolled his eyes, “Oh fuck off. It was one time! Leave me alone.”

“Dude, I’m just trying to help,” Iron man frowned, rolling his own eyes this time, “So, sue me.”

“Maybe I will,” Over what? Clint had no clue. But it’s been like, a whole week since the food incident. He’s really been trying to move past his little outburst, but these stupid freaking heroes just won’t drop it. Well, that’s probably what made them such good heroes. And friends. But it’s also what makes them so freaking annoying.

Ugh. Sometimes, Clint does miss the solo, lonely life he once lead (not really, but he has his pride, dammit). “Now stop.”

“Wow, everyone’s been telling me to help more and be more emotionally open, but when I do help everyone’s like _stop, you’re being annoying_. It’s a lose-lose situation!” Tony threw his hands into the air, clearly done with the situation. Or, Clint wished he was clearly done with the situation. Sadly, Clint’s life is never that easy. “You know what? No. You are getting my help whether you like it or not!”

“Tony, stop-“

“What? Is it really that big of a deal? You have a thing over food, but everyone has their things they’re weird about. I’m weird over not having a proper heart! So stop being embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed I’m just - it’s just not - ugh, rot in Hell!” Clint turned, marching out of his own freaking room, and the last safe space he had in the tower. It’s fine, though. Totally fine. Who needs safe spaces? Who needs spaces to get away and feel at ease... feel safe? Not him, no sir. He definitely does not need that. Never had it before, why have it now?

He does, begrudgingly, get it though. Stark’s trying to help. Stark saw something wrong, and his little mind went ‘ _fix fix fix_.’ If it wasn’t so annoying and intrusive it’d be sweet. But, unfortunately, it’s not sweet, and it’s just damaging but Clint doesn’t know how to explain how or why it’s damaging because he doesn’t fucking get it himself-

He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t know how to put the feelings into words. He doesn’t know how to make them understand why he wants no one else to know about his shit, or act on it, and dammit. Dammit all.

Clint stormed to the far wall of the hallway, pulling off the AC grate and crawling into the vents. Fortunately, fortunately, he has the vents and all the little nests he made through them. So, ok, maybe he was being overdramatic and his room isn’t his last safe space he has. He has the vents and his place in Bed-Stuy. But still! The sentiment remains the same. Stark shouldn’t have been in his room. Everyone should have forgotten his little outburst. And Clint shouldn’t even be worrying about this! It was one outburst. Clint’s jumped out of planes and his teammates have cared less about that than him getting pissy over a slice of pizza. Was it even pizza? Maybe it was Chinese? Huh, he can’t even remember. It’s that freaking unimportant.

Clint shuffled through the vent, stopping at his first nest that’s located above the living room. He wrapped his fluffy blanket around himself, grabbing the chocolate bar he has hidden in the corner of his nest and settled down. Fuck everyone, honestly. Fuck them all.

* * *

He remained within the vent for a long time. Longer than he initially planned. The day passed, then the night passed. He removed his hearing aids to enjoy the calming silence within the vent, the calm air and lack of irritating friends trying to help. It allowed him to calm, taking deep breaths to slow the anxiety boiling in his chest. It’ll be ok, he realized. If he ignores it long enough, everyone will probably forget about it. Especially when someone tries to destroy the world, again. It's perfect planning. 

If not, Clint could get them all into some sort of training about trauma so they can learn when to fucking chill and not push buttons. Cause like, Clint knows he sucks and all when it comes to talking about his own problems - but he has finally admitted to himself what he has is trauma. He’s traumatized. (The next step is actually getting help for it, but that’s a later Clint problem). 

He remained in the vent the following day, ignoring the texts on his phone and his teammates trying to call him. He knows that they’re worried, but he really can’t bring himself to care. At least not until he got an SOS text from one Steve Rogers, and he realized that’s something he can’t particularly ignore. Finally, he removed himself from the vent, making his way to the common area where he caught sight of Steve and Tony.

 _Pretend everything's normal. Pretend like you weren't just hiding in a vent._ “Sup!” He waved, watching as the other two heroes turned to face him, “What’s with the SOS? New York being attacked again?”

Steve shook his head, “No. We have a mission. I tried texting you but you didn’t respond, figured the SOS was the only way to get your attention.”

Huh. Maybe he shouldn’t have ignored all those texts, “Oh, uh, sorry?”

“It’s fine,” Steve sighed, “We are behind schedule, though. Can you pack fast? I’ll fill you in on the road.”

Clint gave him a thumbs up as he turned on his heel, heading back to his room to change and pack. He knows he’s stinky from being in the vent for so long, and thankfully he’s learned to shower in under five minutes. Admittedly, it’s not a very efficient shower, but still a good enough shower.

He missed Steve turning back to Tony, a little frown on his face and his brows pulled up in a worried fashion, “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

Tony smiled, “Yeah, I am. I mean, am I ever wrong?”

“When it comes to machines? Usually not. When It comes to human emotions? Yes. A lot of times, actually.”

The engineer scoffed, “Wow, rude. But I’m right about this. He needs help and we all know he doesn’t care about himself enough to actually get it.”

 _Hypocrite_ , Steve was smart enough not say it aloud, though. That’s a battle for another day. Maybe one where Tony’s stuck and unable to run away. 

Right now, though, it’s Hawkeye who needs their help.

The Captain let out another sigh, “Ok. We’re doing this, but you can’t be too rash about it, ok? If we jump the gun he’s only going to leave.”

Tony gave Steve a mock salute, “Sir, yes sir!”

"And the other's?"

Stark smiled, “They're ready. Now hurry up, Clint’s gonna be back any minute.”

Steve shook his head. He knows they’re helping, but he can’t get rid of the bad feeling that settled low in his gut.

Something’s gonna go wrong. He just knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! Please feel free to leave a comment.


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